


With Friends Like These

by PR Zed (przed)



Series: Das Vadanya Tovarishch [4]
Category: Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-04
Updated: 2012-08-04
Packaged: 2017-11-11 09:23:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/477039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/przed/pseuds/PR%20Zed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>April and Mark decide Illya needs their help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	With Friends Like These

_November 2, 1972_

"Jack."

"No."

"Please, Jack."

"Absolutely not."

"Pretty please. With a cherry on top."

There was nothing quite so persistent, reflected Jack Henry, or quite so annoying, as an Enforcement Agent wheedling to get what he, or she, wanted.

"I've told you, April, I cannot reveal the whereabouts of an agent, retired or not."

April Dancer pouted appealingly. He would have sworn that she even batted her eyelashes at him.

"No."

"Come on, Jack, old son. Illya's our friend. I'm sure he'd be happy to see us." Mark Slate joined the fray.

"Then why didn't he tell you where he lives?"

Logic was a station head's best friend when arguing with underlings

"There was a crazy man trying to kill him when I talked to him, Jack," Mark said. "I'm sure he had other things on his mind. Like surviving."

Unless your underlings were using their own twisted brand of logic.

"Damn."

"C'mon," April cajoled. "You know you want to tell us. You know Illya would like to see us."

"I know no such thing." He waved at the paperwork on his desk. "Do you know the kind of warnings Waverly put on his file? Do you know what they can do to me if I release any information on a retired agent? Do you know what they can do to you?"

"Only if they find out," April argued, sounding far too reasonable. "And they'll only find out if Illya complains. And he won't complain because he really wants to see us. He just doesn't realize it yet."

"So you've become psychic now as well. Knowing what Illya Kuryakin thinks."

"Absolutely," Mark said. "We've made a study of the Kuryakin mindset and we absolutely know what he's thinking at all times."

"No," Jack said with what he hoped was convincing finality. "Now, would you please get out of my office?"

"He's refused, April, my love. And you know what that means."

"We're just going to have to make a nuisance of ourselves in Madison." Jack hadn't quite known that April Dancer possessed such an evil expression in her repertoire.

"Hang around the university."

"Ask embarrassing questions."

"Cause scenes."

"You. Wouldn't." Jack pulled out his best threatening voice, the one that had his own agents scurrying for cover if they heard even a hint of it.

"We. Would." Clearly, April Dancer was made of sterner stuff than his own staff. But then, she was used to dealing with Waverly himself.

"That's what they teach us in Survival School, Jack: complete the mission." Mark had the temerity to smile. "And our mission is to see Illya."

Jack let his head drop to his hands. Odysseus had it easy, stuck between the Scylla and Charybdis. He wondered how the old boy would have done if he'd been caught between Alexander Waverly, the two agents currently taking up space in his office and Illya Kuryakin. 

"If I tell you, you won't make any trouble?"

"No, Jack, we won't cause you any problems," Mark answered easily.

Jack looked up and held Mark Slate's gaze with his own.

"Not me, Mark. Illya."

Both Mark and April froze at that.

"Because I don't know what went on in New York, or why he resigned, but I saw him after that Thrush agent tried to kill him. He'sÖ" Jack hesitated, trying to find the right word to describe the man he'd found in Madison. "Öfragile."

He'd expected a lot of reactions to that word. Amusement. Dismissal. But he got the one reaction he hadn't counted on: absolute belief and acceptance.

"We know, Jack," April said gently. "And that's why we have to see him."

Jack looked at them both and saw that the cajoling had given way to deadly seriousness in both the younger agents. And in the end, it was their seriousness, the realization that they really did just want the best for their friend, that made his decision for him.

"Okay."

There was a stunned silence in the room as both April and Mark froze in disbelief.

"Really?" April asked, a slight hitch in her voice.

"Really." Jack scribbled an address down on a piece of paper and passed it to Mark. "Destroy that once you've memorized it. And get the hell out of my office."

Mark smiled as he took the paper and headed out the door. April approached him, and before he could object, kissed him lightly on the forehead.

"Thanks, Jack," April said. "You won't regret it."

"I sincerely hope not," Jack said to himself after the door closed behind the pair of them. He sank back heavily into his chair and wondered why he hadn't seen this coming when he'd noticed that Dancer and Slate were scheduled to make the next courier run to Chicago. The two of them were far too senior now to be entrusted with such a simple assignment. He must be getting soft.

Still, perhaps it was for the best. Illya had seemed to need a friend or two. He was about to have them.

Jack stood and readied himself to get back to the business of being Chicago's Chief of Enforcement.

* * *

April sat in the passenger seat of their U.N.C.L.E. sedan and tried to enjoy the scenery. It wasn't easy. The countryside between Chicago and Madison was hardly inspiring, tending toward flat farmland, with the occasional outbreak of trees. With the landscape not holding her interest, and Mark in a quiet mood, her thoughts drifted toward the man they were about to visit.

She'd been livid when she'd first found out what Illya had done. She was shocked that he'd abandoned U.N.C.L.E. and Napoleon and all of them out of some misguided sense of duty. If she'd been able to find him, she would have yelled at him, hit him, done anything to make him see how stupid he'd been. But Illya had pulled a disappearing act as complete as any magician, and no one, not even Napoleon, had been able to track him down. So, instead, she had to content herself with looking out for Napoleon: inviting him out for dinner whenever she and Mark were in town; getting Chris Spicer or one of her other friends in Enforcement to look in on him when they weren't.

Then Napoleon had been promoted. Illya had left and Napoleon had finally been given a Section One job. And suddenly Illya's reasons for leaving hadn't looked quite so paranoid.

But they were still stupid reasons.

If he'd stayed, Napoleon may never have been promoted, may not have been able to move into the leadership role for which Waverly was so clearly grooming him. But U.N.C.L.E. would have survived, and the two of them would have been together and happy. Instead, they were apart and miserable. At least, Napoleon was miserable. And she couldn't see Illya faring much better on his own. His Russian soul would drift toward a brooding melancholy, given the slightest provocation.

April might have still been able to hate Illya for his actions, but then one more thing had happened. A rogue Thrush agent had tried to kill him. Mark called her immediately after getting that late night phone call from Illya, had told her of the panic that even U.N.C.L.E.'s famous ice prince couldn't completely hide in his voice. Together, they had waited until Jack Henry called to confirm that Illya was safe.

Faced with the possibility of Illya's death, April had to own up to herself how much she still cared for him. He might be the sorriest, most stubborn excuse for an Enforcement Agent she'd ever encountered, but he was still her friend. And she had too few friends to abandon any of them.

She would not give up Illya Kuryakin's friendship for anything.

She began to scheme. She called the university, but they would not give out Illya's number and address, not even to an U.N.C.L.E. agent. He wasn't listed in the phone book and the phone company was no more cooperative than the university. That was when she pulled out the heavy guns. She used her contacts, then Mark's, to try to get Illya's address. They all came up empty. Which left only one person who knew where Illya lived: Jack Henry in the Chicago office.

When the courier job to Chicago had come up, she'd pushed Ken Daly to give it to her and Mark. She'd nearly been laughed out of the CEA's officeóit was a job for a rookie team, at bestóbut she'd held fast and they'd gotten the assignment. She and Mark were senior enough that they could request favours. Once in a while. Ken was no doubt still trying to figure out why she'd fought so hard to get a routine courier assignment to the Midwest; she chose not to enlighten him.

Once in Chicago, it had only been a matter of blackmailing Jack, something she had taken far too much pleasure in doing, and getting the address. And just like that, they had possession of one of the most closely guarded secrets in U.N.C.L.E. 

"Penny for your thoughts, love."

April started in her seat. "What?" 

"You were miles away. Anything you want to share?" Mark kept his eyes on the road, but she knew they would reflect his concern. Mark had been her rock since Illya vanished. Where she had reacted to Illya's abandonment with furious anger, Mark had shown only a resigned hurt, and had made it his business to act as guardian to both her and Napoleon. 

"Thinking about Illya. Wondering how he's doing."

"I reckon we'll be in Madison in an hour. We'll see him soon enough."

"But will he want to see us?"

The question was left hanging between them as they continued north in the late afternoon traffic.

* * *

Nearly an hour later, they pulled up in front of a small bungalow with a neatly tended yard. April looked at her partner with raised eyebrows, surprised at the outward appearance of domestic respectability the house presented. Mark only shrugged and opened his door.

They were at the foot of the stone stairs leading to Illya's porch when April lost her nerve. She'd told Jack that Illya would want to see them, would welcome them with open arms. But faced with his front door, the doubts that had begun on the drive grew a hundredfold.

Mark, halfway up the steps, must have sensed her hesitation. He turned and gave her a questioning look. "What is it, love?"

"Maybe we shouldn't do this," April blurted out.

"It was your idea, as I recall."

"I know." April refrained from wringing her hands only by strength of will. "But what if I was wrong? What if he really doesn't want to see us?"

Mark gave her a look that conveyed equal parts exasperation and determination. "He'll want to see us, April. We're his friends."

"Are we?"

"That's a daft question."

"Okay, then you ring the bell."

Faced with having to act himself, Mark's determination melted away. "Maybe you should. He always liked you best."

"But the two of you had that male bonding thing going."

"Male bonding thing? Have you gone utterly spare, April?"

"Just ring the bell, Mark."

"You first."

"Chicken."

"Coward."

"Why don't you both come in before the neighbours start complaining?"

Both April and Mark jumped. The very man they'd been arguing about stood in his doorway, arms crossed, mouth quirked in an amused grin.

"Illya," April squeaked, embarrassed at her voice's sudden jump up an octave.

"April. Mark." Illya held the door open and gestured his unexpected guests inside.

"Illya," April repeated, unable to express just how good it was to see the friend she'd thought lost to her. She moved quickly forward and pinned Illya in a completely spontaneous hug. When she let go, she found a slightly sheepish look on Illya's face. Illya turned to Mark.

"Don't worry, mate," Mark said. "I'm English; we don't do hugs."

A gleam of mischief returned to Illya's eyes.

"Ah, but we Russians do." And he engulfed Mark in a hug every bit as overwhelming as April's had been.

"It is very good to see you both," Illya said and there was no doubting the sincerity in his voice.

They made their way to the living room, and Illya turned into the perfect host. He made tea, though in a pot, not a samovar, and produced pastries from the kitchen. After the sun went down, they ordered pizzaóor at least one of the monumental slabs of cheese and toppings that the Midwest called pizzaóand Illya pulled out beer and vodka. They talked and laughed and drank far more than was good for any of them.

The one thing they did not do was mention Napoleon or U.N.C.L.E. or New York. As much as April wanted to yell at Illya, to slap him for showing such a lack of judgment, she couldn't. She knew that could only end in estrangement between them, and she was far too happy to have her friend back to risk losing him again.

They might have gone on till dawn, but many hours after midnight, April noticed Illya trying to hide a jaw-cracking yawn.

"You're tired," she said. "We should let you sleep."

"Yeah. We'll get a hotel." Mark tried to stand, and succeeded only in wobbling before crashing back down to the sofa.

"You'll do no such thing," Illya insisted, sounding far more sober than either of his companions. "You're both too drunk to drive, and I wouldn't want to inflict you on any of Madison's taxi drivers."

"It's all right, Illya," April said. "We should leave you your privacy."

"I lost that when you showed up on my doorstep." Illya stood and disappeared down the hallway, reappearing with arms laden with pillows and blankets. "The couch pulls out." He dumped his burden onto the floor. "As long as you two don't mind sharing?"

"We share all the time," April said.

"Really?" Illya's eyebrows nearly vanished under his bangs.

"Not like that," April said, exasperated. "Like friends."

"Yeah. Friends," Mark echoed. He scrunched up his face. "She snores."

"Do not. Anyway, you steal the blankets."

Illya laughed. "I'll leave the two of you to sort out the sleeping arrangements. I'll see you in the morning."

"'Night, Illya."

Drunk as they were, April had no idea how they managed to get the couch pulled out without mishap. All she did know was that she woke up the next morning still in her clothes, with the blankets predictably all on Mark's side.

She grabbed a blanket and pulled, only to have even that small effort rewarded with a massive shooting pain in her head. Her stomach pitched in complaint and she squinted against the sunlight that streamed into the room.

"Oh, dear god, what did we do?"

"Got pissed on Illya's vodka." Mark's voice emerged from the mound of blankets. "A mistake that I shall not repeat in this lifetime, since I have clearly died and gone to hell."

"Westerners have no stamina."

April looked blearily up to see Illya walk into the room, freshly showered and carrying a mug of something that smelled wonderful.

"You have coffee," she croaked.

"There's a fresh pot in the kitchen. You can have some as soon as you're up and showered."

April sat up, clutching her head as an invisible troll attempted to cleave her head in two with his invisible axe. "I feel like my head's been scraped out with a dull butter knife."

"You'll feel better after a shower." Illya pointed to the corner. "I've brought your bags in from the car. The bathroom's down the hall."

April looked up at her friend suspiciously. "Why don't you have a hangover?"

"I'm Russian," Illya said smugly.

"I hate you."

"Get up, take a shower and I will take you for the best pancakes in the country. And then you will love me."

"Not possible, mate." Mark moaned from his side of the couch.

"They don't make Enforcement Agents like they used to," Illya shot back, then disappeared down the hall.

It was a feat of superhuman strength, but April managed to get showered, changed and then partook of Illya's excellent coffee. If she could have injected the rich, dark liquid directly into her veins, she would have. By the time Mark emerged from his shower, having taken even longer than his partner, April was beginning to feel somewhat human again.

Illya took them for the promised breakfast. Mickey's Dairy Bar specialized in pancakes big enough and plentiful enough to feed a small family for a week.

"I have to admit, you were right about the food here," April said, shovelling another mouthful of blueberry pancake into her mouth.

"I'm never wrong about food," Illya said, digging in to his own stack of banana pancakes.

April refrained from telling Illya the things he was wrong about.

"How long can you stay?"

"Our flight leaves O'Hare at 10 tonight," Mark said.

"Excellent," Illya said. "I don't have classes on Fridays. I can show you around Madison. It's not New York, but it has its good points. And you're just in time to see the last of the fall colour."

Illya was as good as his word. He drove them around the city. They hit used book stores on State Street and the university art gallery, the beach on Lake Monona, and the arboretum. They also ran into a few of Illya's students. April didn't think she'd ever get over her amusement at hearing her former colleague addressed as ëProfessor Kuryakin.' Especially not with the flat Wisconsin accent most of his students possessed.

"I've saved the best for last," Illya said as he pulled into the parking ramp at the eastern edge of the university. He led them across a green mall where students sat enjoying the late fall sun and to the Memorial Union. He bought a pitcher of local beer and took them out the back of the building, where a long stone terrace overlooked another of Madison's three lakes.

"It's a bit chilly now, but it's still a lovely place to sit," Illya said as he claimed a table.

April had to admit that he was right. The lake was surrounded by woods that still clung to the last of their leaves. The sunlight sparkled on the water and brought out the scarlet of the leaves. Even though they had to bundle their jackets around them against the chill, April wouldn't have gone inside for the world.

They sat silently, enjoying the beer, the scenery and the company. When they'd finished the last drop of the beer, Illya suggested they take a walk along the lake.

As soon as they reached the walking path and entered into the relative privacy of the trees that surrounded the lake, April felt Illya's mood change. He became the spy he had been until so very recently, wary and circumspect. After ten minutes, he led them off the path toward the lake. They ended up on a small stone beach, dotted with boulders. The beach was completely protected from the path; no one would see, or hear, them unless they were very close indeed.

Illya sat on one of the boulders and looked closely at his companions.

"Why are you here, April?"

Cued by Illya's manner, April had switched to professional mode herself.

"What do you mean?" she asked guardedly.

"Anyone who's gone to as much effort as you have to find me must want something. Vatanen wanted to kill me. Marton wanted to recruit me. What do you want, April?"

"Marton tried to recruit you?" Mark blurted out, but April shushed him with a look. There would be time for that story later.

"We only wanted to see that you were safe, Illya. That you were happy." She held Illya's gaze with a steadiness that belied her inner turmoil. She did not say all the other things that tumbled through her thoughts. I want you back in New York. I want you back in U.N.C.L.E. I want you back with Napoleon. She could not say any of those things. Not now. Not yet. They would wait until next time. If there was a next time.

Illya's look told her that he knew there was much she was holding back, but he also choose not to voice all his thoughts.

"Are you happy, Illya? Truly?"

A long minute passed before he spoke, but at last he did.

"I am content." He smiled slightly. "As content as a man can be when he's teaching freshman physics."

April reached out and took his hand in hers. "Then I'm glad for you, Illya."

He looked at her sceptically.

"You said you hated me, in your letter."

"I was angry."

"She certainly was," Mark said. April released Illya's hand and elbowed Mark in the ribs. "You see? You don't want to get on her bad side."

"All Thrush knows not to get on her bad side," Illya said with a laugh.

"You two. Ganging up on the defenceless female."

"Of all the things you are, April, defenceless is not one of them," Illya said, laughing brightly. Mark joined in the laughter and soon even April couldn't resist.

It felt good, being outside on this dazzling fall day, sharing a joke with friends. At that moment, April was certain that everything would be all right.

"Can we visit again, Illya? Next time we're near Wisconsin?" She hoped that the pleading tone in her voice was all in her imagination.

"You may visit any time you like. I'll make sure I have vodka and plenty of aspirin." April ignored the slight to their constitutions, especially since she still had the lingering remnants of her hangover.

"And you'll visit us in New York," Mark added.

A shadow crossed Illya's face. "I don't think I'll be travelling to New York. Not for some time."

Mark frowned slightly and looked on the verge of speaking, but April silenced him with a quick shake of her head. They could not press Illya. Not now; not so soon.

To cover any awkwardness, April quickly took the arms of both her friends and led them back to the path, the leaves crunching crisply underfoot, the tang of fall in the air.

There would be time to confront Illya about his choices later. Time to convince him that he was wrong, that he should come back to the Command, back to New York. Back to Napoleon. But for now, they were just three friends, enjoying one of the last sunny days before the snow fell and winter enclosed them in its grip.

**Author's Note:**

> Previously published in Relative Secrecy 10.


End file.
